


The Hills Beyond

by Larrycanaryoh



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AU where Lauren has magic blood lol, Ebb deserved better, F/F, also light mage roasting because i h8 that dude, also theres themes of adoption, and there's fluffy cliches everywhere, and this is for her, because she just loves her lesbian goatherd wife so much, but by OC I mean my roommate, its a great time, look i know I said OC, so here, there's really not enough Ebb content out there, this is probably pre-Carry On
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-03-04 09:37:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13361808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larrycanaryoh/pseuds/Larrycanaryoh
Summary: "A big, iron gate comes into view through the last of the trees... I look up; the gate reads: ‘THE WATFORD SCHOOL’, then something below itー...Oh.Oh.Her eyes are very, very blue."





	1. THE WATFORD SCHOOL

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grudge_e](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grudge_e/gifts).



> Hey so uh I wrote this as a birthday gift for my roommate and dear friend Lauren, because she really loves Ebb and there's really not enough Ebb content out there... even though the story's pretty tailored to her I thought I'd post it here bc #EbbDeservedBetter

I really,  _ really  _ should have stopped for gas (or  _ petrol _ , here, I guess) at the station I saw right before that last ( _ and now I realize, probably wrong _ ) turn out of the city and into the sprawling countryside of East Bum-fuck- _ nowhere _ , England.

I lift my head from where it rests on the steering wheel of the now broken down Rent-A-Car, my golden hair falling back around me like a curtain to reveal the empty gas gage that’s currently fucking up all of my plans to visit my cousin Martin now, for the first time _ever_. The clock on the dashboard reads 17:48, which means that we’re coming up on being 2 whole hours late to meet him at his place out here, in the countryside. I was adopted, and though I’ve always been happy with and loved by my adoptive parents, recently I got curious, and reached out to any biological family I might have out there. I knew it was a long shot: there wasn’t any record of my father, and upon searching, I discovered that nobody had seen my biological mother in years. But, I left my contact information with the agency, on a whim, and I found Martin. Or rather, _he_ found _me_ ; he wrote me a letter (yes, an honest-to-God, paper and pen _letter_ ) asking me to come visit him in England, saying that he had some old pictures and mementos… and, the most intriguing part of it all: he wrote that he knows “something about our family history that would best be discussed in person.” Understandably, I was a little weary of going to meet someone who claims to have some life-changing knowledge for me… so I brought my 100 lb. komondor, Sophie (who is by no means an attack dog, but we look out for each other). _“At least it’s beautiful out here,”_ I sigh aloud, half to myself and half to the dog in the passenger’s seat, wishing now that I had sprung for that international phone coverage. At the sound of my voice, Sophie perks up. As I look around for _any_ sign of civilization, she sniffs loudly, nudging her leash toward me. “Alright, Soph, I can take a hint;” I murmur, ruffling her mop-like hair and clipping on the leash. “Let’s go for a walk, maybe we’ll find someone who can help us out.” 

Stepping out of the car, I let out a groan as I stretch: my body crackling and popping in protest of the long journey.

Sophie’s happy pants and the sounds of her sniffing fill the space between the chirping birds and insects, and the lazy, warm, early-September breeze that’s blowing as we explore the sprawling road ahead. I begin to relax, despite my stress. ‘ _ There has to be someone who’ll let us use their phone,’  _ I think,  _ ‘or someone who has gas, or who can give us a ride to get some. Don’t panic. Just relax.’  _ But my paperweight of a phone says it’s 6:25 pm now, and judging by the way the sun is sinking low on the rolling horizon, I’d say there’s about an hour of light left. So I hope we find someone soon.

My eyes are glued to the horizon as I allow myself to be distracted by the beauty of the countryside. Everywhere the light touches is glowing orange in a sweet, warm farewell embrace from the sun: I’m just beginning to think I understand why Martin probably isolates himself out here when the wind shifts. (Which I don’t notice right away, but Sophie does; she stops dead in her tracks, sniffing the air.) I  _ do  _ notice, however, when Sophie makes a break for it. Her leash is yanked out of my grip as she suddenly bolts away from me, running at full speed and barking, off of the road and into the trees.

For a moment, I’m dumbstruck;  _ “ _ Oh  _ fuck!”  _ I exclaim stupidly, to no one.

Once my legs catch up with my brain, I take off after her. But even at a full sprint, she’s faster than me  _ and  _ she’s had a head start, so I’m just running blindly after the sound of her barking, pushing past branches and trying not to trip over the uneven forest floor. I’m calling out to her, begging her to come back... But judging by her barking, she’s not planning on turning around anytime soon. Just as I start to run out of steam, and I think I’m going to lose her, the barking stops getting further away. A big, iron gate comes into view through the last of the trees, and I see Sophie’s tell-tale shaggy white coat at the entrance as she begins to howl and whine to be let inside the walls of whatever this place is. Relieved, the sight of her gives me the last burst of energy I needed to catch up with her. She sees me, and takes a quick reprieve from her hell-raising racket to come over and kiss me, slobbering on my face as I bend down to take hold of her leash again. ‘ _ It’s about time! Keep up next time, will you?’  _ her sparkling black eyes seem to say as she wags her tail and abruptly pulls me forward, toward the gate. She resumes her barking and howling as I look up; the gate reads:  _ ‘THE WATFORD SCHOOL’ _ , then something below itー

But I don’t get to read what the rest of it says, because suddenly there’s a man at the gate who clears his throat, eyeing Sophie and me suspiciously

In that moment, I really don’t care that he’s suspicious of us, or why. He’s  _ there _ . “Oh thank  _ God, _ ” I breathe, grateful to see someone who could help us. “Hi! Uh, I’m sorry, I’m lost and out of gas and hungry and the sun’s going down, and do you have a phone I can use?”.

The man is broad-shouldered, and his chestnut brown hair is shaved close to the scalp. He looks tough, almost like a soldier, except the glimmer of confusion in his eyes betray how our sudden (loud, chaotic, bark-y, American) presence has taken him by surprise. He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly, slipping on a mask that obviously Means Business. I look at Sophie, silently wondering what kind of school requires their security to be so paranoid. ‘ _ We’re in the middle of nowhere... what, are the trees gonna sneak up and attack these kids? Is this a cult?’ _

As I look back at the man, he barks a question, “Who are you? How’d you find this place?”

_ Okay, maybe this is a cult. Relax, dude,  _ “Uh… My name’s Lauren,” I say, feeling awkward under his heavy scrutiny, “and I didn’t ‘find this place’... ” I gesture with my leash-holding hand, “She did.”

“D-d’you need to see some ID or something…?” I start to reach into my denim jacket pocket for my wallet, and the guard jumps about a foot into the air, hand flying to his own pocket. “ _ Whoah, whoah, whoah! Okay. _ ” I freeze, and slowly put my non-leash hand up in a surrendering motion.

With his hand stilled, hovering over his side pocket, he nods his head at me, and I slowly reach into my pocket and take my ID out of my wallet, passing it through the gate to him. He takes it, cautiously, as if I’d just handed him a landmine.

“Wait here.” he gruffs at me, and he turns and walks away, casting one last suspicious glance over his shoulder.

So we wait. Sophie’s panting, tongue lolling out, clearly proud that she led us here, and blissfully unbothered by how  _ weird _ this guy is acting.

The guard comes back, and he’s not alone this time. I catch pieces of the tail end of their hushed conversation:

“... _ Normal! _ ”

“Can’t be… wouldn’t…  _ look  _ at this place if she was...”

I cock my eyebrows as the owner of the second, new voice comes into view. ‘ _ Yep, definitely a cult. And Peter Pan here is their leader.’  _

I’m not trying to be mean, he really  _ does _ look like Peter Pan, in his green tunic and even greener leggings, big leather boots, and with an  _ actual sword _ hanging from his belt. I try not to gape too much, in case he takes offense to that sort of thing. Sophie whines, but remains otherwise unperplexed by all of this.

Mr. Peter Pan, the (Cult?) Leader, is studying Sophie and me, looking us up and down with this glint in his eyes as if  _ we’re _ the ones who look ridiculous, and I’m about to tell them to forget it and just leave when he breaks the tense silence. “ _ Open the gate. _ ” he calls to someone on the inside. There’s a great rumbling and creaking as the old iron bars swing open to let us in, and Sophie’s tail wags a little faster.

The first guard gives me back my ID as we walk through the gates, and I turn to Peter Pan to introduce myself (because I’m pretty sure he doesn’t  _ actually  _ go around calling himself Peter Pan… right?) Suddenly, Sophie takes my distraction as a golden opportunity to bolt again, barking and howling, nearly knocking me over as she throws her full weight into escaping. I yelp, then let out an exasperated huff, watching her quickly retreating form run for the hills (literally. I hope this fence goes all the way around the property...) “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry! She’s usually so well-behaved; I have no idea what’s going on with her!” I excuse myself from them both to chase after her  _ again _ .

Sophie’s barking echoes here, ringing across the rolling hills and bouncing off the giant wall that, as I can see, contains what must be the main, ‘school’ part of ‘The Watford School’. They really do take extreme security precautions here, there’s actually a grand, ancient looking  _ drawbridge  _ and a  _ moat _ . Maybe it’s old-fashioned but effective? I wonder if it’s to keep intruders out, or to keep the students in. I shiver. The sun is almost completely disappeared now, and the breeze is picking up.

At any rate, I still have an idea which way Sophie’s headed, even if I can’t see her anymore. The few, uniformed, affluent-looking students who are starting to make their way toward the drawbridge and back to their dorms aren’t even trying to hide their amusement: whispering and looking at me, disheveled and slightly out of breath, before pointing at where Sophie must have gone. I pick up my pace again, and as I round the next turn of the drawbridge wall, I see her again, chasing around… something? Sheep? Goats? ‘ _ Definitely goats.’  _ I determine as I get closer.

I think she’s rounding them up. Huh. I always knew she was a herding dog breed, but she’s never done this before.  _ ‘Then again,’  _ I concede,  _ ‘we usually aren’t out with the livestock and rolling hills of middle of East Bum-fuck nowhere, England’ _ .

I call out to Sophie, and the goats are forgotten for the moment as she trots over to me, eyes glittering with pure, unadulterated, doggy-joy. I bend down to pet her head and take her leash into my hands (wrapping it around my palm twice this time). “Sophie!” I chastise her (but she must know I’m not really angry, because her tail wags all the same), “stop terrorizing these poor goats! What’s gotten into you?”

“It’s in her blood, innit?” a new voice calls out. I whip my head up to find its owner just as she comes to a stop in front of me. My heart stops.

Oh.  _ Oh. _

_ Her eyes are very, very blue. _

I’m just standing there, absolutely  _ floored _ : her striking, pale blue eyes are  _ sparkling, dancing, leaping  _ with a kind, sage cheerfulness _ ,  _ even in the low light of the fast-fading dusk… I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe, and that’s just fine. She has fine, light blonde hair cut in a blunt bob that tangles around her cheekbones and over her forehead, and it frames her head like an angelic glow… Oh my  _ God.  _ Even though I know I’ve been staring and silent for far too long now, I just can’t tear my eyes away from the smattering of dirt and dust on her cheeks: all of a sudden, my hands ache to reach out and brush the dirt away with my thumbs, and to just hold her there, to make sure that she’s really real.

She can’t be real. She  _ must _ be real. She’s saying something.  _ Shit, she’s saying something, I have to say something.  _ I blink, and shake my head back into reality.

“Sorry, what?”  _ Good going, Lauren, you ladykiller. _

She barely looks fazed. She smiles as she repeats: “your dog! She’s the workin’ type, she’s just doing her job watching over the goats. S’something the two of us have in common, her and I. ”

I exhale a laugh, still worried she might disappear right before my eyes, and smile back at her. “ Yeah... I’m sorry to intrude on your work! She’s not usually so keen on running off like that... I’m Lauren.” I reach out my hand, and she takes it.

“Ebb! Pleased to meet ya.” She beams brighter, _(wow, I’m gay)_ her hand is covered in a ratty fingerless glove, and it lingers in mine for a half-second before she pulls away.

_ That settles it, then. Definitely real. _

Bending down to scratch Sophie’s head. Ebb continues, “and don’t be sorry! I appreciate the help!” she says to me, and then to Sophie: “You want to help me bring ‘em home for the night? If that’s alright with your mum of course.” Oh  _ yes  _ that would definitely be alright, Sophie clearly loves you already;  _ please keep talking pretty goat lady, you’re amazing. _

Out loud, I tell her, “Who am I to stand between a dog and her calling?” and then I swear to myself that when we get home, I’m giving that dog  _ all the treats in the world _ for leading us here.

I let Sophie off of her leash, and Ebb seems to know exactly what to do to make sure Sophie and the goats follow her lead. With a wave of her staff, she cues Sophie, who starts to move them toward the drawbridge gate. I follow her as she walks with them, as enchanted by her as the animals are.

I follow her across the bridge, over the (creepy) moat and into the inner part of the grounds, and I forget all about Martin, about the rental car… about anything that exists outside of this place. The architecture is absolutely stunning, and  _ old _ , medieval even; It’s as if I could round the corner of the next building and find a knight in ye olde shining armour fighting a dragon, and it wouldn’t even be out of place. Watching Ebb and Sophie guide the flock over the courtyard, down the paths bathed in the dim glow of the oil street lamps lining the way toward the barn where they must sleep, I feel a satisfied sense of belonging wash over me. That’s ridiculous, right? I just got here, I don’t even really know where  _ here _ is (or why that green guy and the guard were so wary of Sophie and me), but now that I’m here, something in my blood is  _ humming _ , and alive.

We make our way into the barn, which is cozy, if a little smelly. I look around, my back to Ebb, and when I turn around, she’s already put the goats away and started a fire in the small potbelly stove in the living quarters at the back of the barn. Sophie curls up, contented, on the floor.

“So,” Ebb begins, “did you come all this way just to herd my goats? What brings you to Watford?”

_ Oh, right. _ I catch Ebb up to speed; I tell her about how I’m lost and out of gas, how Sophie and I are meant to be meeting my cousin.

At some point, Ebb hands me a cup of tea, and then before I know it, I’m telling her  _ everything _ .

“...I was so anxious to know more about my history that I kind of just dropped everything to come here, I...”

Ebb tilts her head, gloved hands wrapped around her own cup, waiting patiently for me to continue.

“I came here… Martin said something strange. In his letter.” The tendrils of steam coming off of my tea rise up around my face as I stare down into the cup. “He said ‘the world has separated us’, and he ‘doesn’t want anything to separate us from each other anymore’. He said there’s something I should know about our family, something I should have known a long time ago.”

When I look up at Ebb, she’s already looking at me, eyes misty. I wonder what she’s thinking, behind those beautiful, haunting eyes. She opens her mouth and draws a careful breath to respond, but suddenly there’s a knock on the barn door.


	2. MAGIC SEPARATES US FROM THE WORLD;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiii. so, I'm really sorry but I'm not sure if I'm going to continue this story beyond this chapter. I have it all planned out in a doc but I would still have to ~*actually write*~ and there's other stuff that makes it kind of complicated and weird now, maybe TOO weird for me to feel right investing further time into this poor little WIP... but. HEY! here's like 80% of a chapter that I already had written, partially because I really just want to dip my toes in and feel this out, and also I feel bad just dropping this from off the face of the Earth with no attempt at closure or explanation.
> 
> please dont hate me lol

_When I look up at Ebb, she’s already looking at me, eyes misty. I wonder what she’s thinking, behind those beautiful, haunting eyes. She opens her mouth and draws a careful breath to respond, but suddenly there’s a knock on the barn door._  
-  
The sound breaks the tension of the moment, and Ebb releases her breath in a whooshing sigh as she gets up to answer the door.  
“Headmaster Davy!” She greets him. “It’s nice to see ya. How ‘bout a cup of tea?”  
“Yes, hello Ebb. Actually, I’m here to see our… _visitor_.”  
“Of course! Right this way.” She beckons him to come inside as she turns from the door back toward me and the hearth, letting the old barn door fall shut behind them.  
Peter Panー Headmaster Davyー, never did answer Ebb about if he wants tea or not, but she pours him a cup anyway as he trails behind her. _‘He looks as out of place in his stupid costume as he probably feels,’_ I note as I catch a flicker of uncertainty in his gaze before he sees me and seems to remember his purpose, and it steadies.  
He sits down gingerly on a worn, rickety wooden chair that Ebb pulls up to the fire, as if he’s afraid of getting a splinter. Ebb hands him the cup before settling down into her own chair, and he immediately sets it down on the ground beside him, crossing his legs and turning to me. “So,” he begins, “Lauren, is it?”  
I nod, and he continues: “I see you’ve found your dog.” His eyes flicker over to where Sophie is still contentedly dozing on the floor, sleepy and satisfied from her long, full day.  
“Oh, Sophie! Yes,” Her ears perk up and she lifts her head at the sound of her name, but she quickly loses interest and lays down once more with a yawn. “Thank God. I’m so sorry about that, I hope the students weren’t too disrupted by her barking and everything.”  
He blinks at me. So I ask, “...This is a school, isn’t it? A boarding school? It’s really beautiful here.”  
“Yes, it is.” He shifts in his chair, expression unreadable. “So what brings you to the area? Do you… live nearby? How did you know Watford was here?”  
“No, actually I’m just visiting in the area and my rental car broke down… I had no idea any of this was here.” I respond. “Thank God it is, though! Do you have a phone I can use to ring my cousin and let him know what’s going on?”  
The headmaster reaches for a small, velvet, drawstring pouch hanging from his belt, and pulls out a beat up flip phone. “Of course,” he says, holding it out to me.  
I take the phone, flipping it open, and the tiny screen casts its electronic light on my face: the blue, artificial light clashing cooly against the warmth of the flickering from the hearth.  
“And Lauren?”  
I look up from the phone.  
“It’s late, so you can stay here tonight if you’ve nowhere else to go. But I’m afraid I can’t very well have you in the dormitories with the students, so you’ll have to stay here with Ebb if you do stay.”  
_Fine by me._ I nod. “That’s absolutely perfect, if that’s okay with her… ”  
We both turn to Ebb, and she briefly glances up from her knitting一a maroon sweater with a white ‘S’ embroidered on the front一 to nod and smile at me.  
I smile back, and pull the paper with Martin’s contact information out of my back pocket. I dial Martin’s number as I walk over to the door and step outside into the cool night air. The phone begins to ring, and my stomach lurches in anxiety as I realize that I’ve never actually spoken to Martin on the phone before.  
Someone picks up the phone: _“Hello?”_  
“Hi, is this Martin?”  
_“Yes, is this Lauren?”_  
“Yes! Hi! I’m sure you’ve already figured out that I got lost on the way to your place?”  
_“Yes, it’s a relief to hear from you, I was beginning to worry! Where are you now? Do you need me to come pick you up?”_  
“I’m so sorry, I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere… I ended up at The Watford School; do you know where that is?”  
There’s a moment of crackling silence, and for a moment I think the spotty connection has disconnected the call. But then, Martin responds _“...Yes. Yes! The Watford School. Well, I can tell you you’re certainly in good hands there.”_ and I don’t miss the undercurrent of quiet surprise and amusement underneath his careful tone.  
“Yeah, I noticed the moat. This place is intense.”  
_“That it is. And quite far off from the road as well! How on Earth did you end up way out there?”_  
“Sophie.” I lean back against the barn wall, my head thumping against it as I recount the events of this very long day, sagging under the weight of it. I continue,  
“After I took that wrong turn, I kept driving, thinking I’d get around the next bend and suddenly know where I was. The rental car ran out of gas, though, so Sophie and I went to find help. She bolted, and when I caught up to her… here we were.”  
He laughs. _“How convenient! Sophie sounds like quite the character! I can’t wait to meet her, and you.”_  
“Same!” I say, and my stomach flutters in nervousness once again, although with less vigor than before the phone call.  
_“Well, I suppose we’ll have plenty of time to talk in the morning. I’ll come round at 9, then we’ll pop into town for the petrol station.”_  
“Sounds great! See you in the morning.”  
_“Good night, Lauren.”_  
I hit ‘end’, and the phone clicks shut as I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Thank you Jesus. He sounds nice, even though he was a little weird when I mentioned Watford. ‘Seems to be a common theme,’ I think, turning on my heel toward the barn door.

**Author's Note:**

> (I promise more is on the way! I'm aiming for a 3 part sort of thing, but only time will tell.)


End file.
